


The Mysterious Disappearance of J

by halloftheforgotten



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 13:29:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16430300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halloftheforgotten/pseuds/halloftheforgotten
Summary: This is basically a Spirited Away AU, not going to lie, but I think you might like the edits I made to the original concept. I’m obviously not claiming ownership to the film or the characters so kindly chill on any copyright because I am not claiming this idea to be my own.It was clear, every ripple sparkling as it caught the light. Pebbles smooth and worn as if the water had meticulously carved it into perfection, but this place was man made. He was there.  I can’t remember his name and apparently neither can anyone else, but I went to Spirited and left without someone important.(Jeanmarco fan fiction if that wasn't clear)This is actually in third person despite the passage above, just so you all know.I’m a shitty first person writer.





	The Mysterious Disappearance of J

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for mistakes and typos for I'm trying to get the first few chapters out as quickly as possible before I loose interest in my idea, however I did do a thorough search for mistakes and believe any mistakes will not infringe your enjoyment. Thank you.

Chapter One

The gravel road they walked upon hindered the awkward silence, rocks grumbling softly as the terrain churned beneath their sneakers. They’d been walking uphill for quite some time and everyone was a bit out of breath, especially Connie and Sasha who had foolishly tried to run all the way up. The pair had then successfully drained Marco’s water supply, but at least Connie had offered to carry the empty water bottle.  
They passed statues made of pieced-together rock that formed a vague, sloppy house shape. Old rock temples. The moss was the only resident in there, overgrown and forgotten homes for the Gods, only worshipped by bryophytes or a small creature caught in the rain.  
The hill wound teasingly, steep enough to strain the muscles but visually appeared to be a flat road. Every oncoming turn looked like the one that would reach the top to only disappoint again. Towards the very end the tree branches hung low and thick so the group had to crawl, all of them whining about the rocks that dug into their palms and knees, but it was exhilarating. To be enclosed in a tunnel of grass and knotted trees, to feel dirt, dust, and blood color the knees; it’s an adventure all of itself. Grunting, Marco finally got to his feet again, looking down at the already dried trail of blood venturing from his left kneecap to his shin.  
There was a rustling from the thicket and Armin crawled his way out, Marco helped him to his feet. A little up the way Reiner, Bertholdt and Annie all stood around a statue that resembled what Marco felt to be a frog. The statue was oval shaped with a large grin and eyes bulging unpleasantly from his face. Two lumps resembled arms and he seemed to be hugging himself, the rock was colored green from plants and a spider web eerily lingered in the crevice of his mouth.  
“Do you recognize it Marco?” Armin asked gently, the rest of the group now congregated around. He shook his head, “I don’t think so, I only remember the garden and the river.” 

It was clear, every ripple sparkling as it caught the light. Pebbles smooth and worn as if the water had meticulously carved it into perfection, but this place was man made. He was there. I can’t remember his name and apparently neither can anyone else, but I went to Spirited and left without someone important.

“Well, then the journey continues.”  
Walking past the statue they were met with a tunnel that stretched far enough that the light on the other side was a mere speck. Reiner felt the sides, “it’s wood and it looks brand new.” Marco chewed his inner cheek, the place was fourteen years old and abandoned four days after opening, but nobody could really remember why anymore. Only a lingering fear stayed with the village and they all kept their distance.  
“That is definitely not wood.” Armin observed critically and Marco had to agree, the tunnel seemed to made from some cheap plaster; uneven and a sour shade of pink.  
“Feel.” Reiner encouraged and Armin did, his eyebrows raising, “That is undeniably wood.” The others wanted to feel for themselves too and everyone reluctantly agreed with Reiner. Marco ran his finger tips down the edge and hissed softly at a small splinter that punctured his index finger. Carefully pulling it out he looked down the tunnel, “Well, now that we all agree on the material of the tunnel, let’s go through.” He murmured, a bit of playfulness in his voice but impatience as well.  
Marco got out his keychain flashlight but it provided little use so the team walked practically blind. The uneven path and the odd amount of moisture under their feet made it dangerous, but the entrance to Spirited echoed with giggles and warmed with friends holding onto one another for balance. 

It felt like eternity passed in the blink of an eye, the light finally cutting through the dark to reveal fields of overgrown grass and wildflowers. The sky was decorated in large, fluffy white clouds that seemed to be plucked out of a daydream. There was a small dirt path lined with rocks that led to a bridge, “that must be where the river was,” Marco decided out loud and ran toward it. He leaned over the bridge and looked down at a trail of dust, sighing. That river was getting harder and harder to picture and now it was replaced with the memory of cracked dirt.  
“I don’t understand how this could dry up.” Armin was kneeling beside the old river’s path, “this mountain gets plenty of rain and all the soil is rich up until here.”  
Sighing, Marco rested his arms on the bridge and watched his friend compare piles of dirt, “we’ll just have to add it to the list of unsolved I suppose.”  
The list of unsolved was every question, theoretical to dumb, the group has ever wondered. It had grown quite extensive over the year it was made in.  
“I have another thing to add to that list guys..” Bertholdt murmured and Marco followed his gaze towards the horizon.  
“Woah.” His heart caught in his throat, somehow he managed to choke out a, “Fucked.”  
The green stretched to bright, freshly painted, pastel buildings resembling a village. In the distance a ferris wheel ran slowly and unlit street lamps lined a cobblestone path towards it all.  
“Ultra fucked.” Reiner agreed.  
They fell silent and Marco swallowed a lump in his throat, “You guys should go back.” He could feel his hands shaking at his sides but he was sure it wasn’t fear. It had to be determination.  
Armin frowned at him, “You’re saying that like you’re not coming with us. We need to call the police and get out of here. This missing kid you remember? It could be real. This could be some-some kidnapper master base for all we know!”  
To be honest, this trip was supposed to be reassurance. Proof it was a figment of his imagination, that he hadn’t really lost someone. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of lavender provided by the field of flowers, “then you can come too if you want, but I’m still going.”  
“In hopes of what?” Armin asked with an obvious frustration, the two of them made eye contact, a battle of stubborness passed between their gazes.  
“I’m with Marco.” He looked over at Reiner in surprise as he continued, “There’s definitely something weird about this place and I’m not letting my friend go alone.” There were mumbles of agreement throughout the rest and the worry lines on Armin’s forehead deepened, “Fine. I’ll give you thirty minutes, if you’re not back on time I’m calling the police.”  
“That sounds fair.” Marco agreed and checked his watch. “It’s six thirty right now, we’ll meet back here at seven?”  
“That’s the deal.” Armin agreed with reluctancy. 

There wasn’t much time so Marco set out immediately, walking toward the haunting figures of honeysuckle and ivy licked buildings. Fading sun, warm and golden reflected off the copper tiles of the matching roofs. The ferris wheel still spun, a black shadow in the distance. It was the normality that was so unnerving, he knew that, but there was something else that was undeniably bothering him. A feeling he was doing something very, very regretful. Still, he couldn’t waver with his friends right behind him. The road seemed to stretch a great distance to the town, but the walk was a matter of brisk minutes. Close up the houses were obviously market stalls, disguised like regular suburban houses. The stalls had a variety of oddities on display, one was selling identical copies of a blue frying pan with varying prices. Others had festival kimonos and masks, jewelry and painted fans. There was an open restaurant, freshly baked meals lined the counter, chopsticks and a glass of water with ice accompanied each empty plate. Sasha counted down the plates, murmuring the numbers, “five,” she confirmed. One for the each of them.  
Reiner rubbed his forehead, messing his already choppy and unruly blond hair,  
“How high am I right now?” He asked in a aw-struck voice.  
Bertolt picked up one of the glasses, “no condensation.” He noted. Marco averted his gaze from the buffet and kept walking. None of this was jogging his memory. Moving on he passed a plethora of strange shops all tempting him with something peculiar to examine, still his gut feeling was forward.  
There was a second bridge, a real one with fast pace water beneath it, the harsh hiss of tumbling water lead him to believe there was a waterfall not too far away. 

“It’s a bathhouse.” Was his first observation as he gazed up at the mansion-like design of the building. A bold sign reading “Bathhouse” was the dead give away, but he could feel hot steam brush his cheeks and smell sweet herbs accompanying the warmth. The house had a tasteful cherry red paint that popped against the gold and black designs. Vacant windows with green roofs reflected the sunlight and made the building shimmer. There were trees and lush gardens surrounding the base with an ugly black smoke stack tarnishing the view from behind as it spewed thick, grey, clouds that smelled of sulfur. His eyes locked on the mysterious fluttering of a silver and blue flag atop the building. After inspection he deduced the designs were depicting a lion roaring.  
There was a gasp in front of him and he was startled to see a boy, around his age with raggedy and frazzled sandy hair which was ridiculously unkempt, topping a dark brown undercut. His face was long and sharp and he had startling gold eyes and high cheekbones.  
“Oh.” He said rather dumbly, still astonished at how the stranger seemingly appeared out of thin air, no hint of movement or sound as he approached.  
“You shouldn’t be here!” His voice was smooth and surprisingly human, panicked but firm. “Get out! Go! Before it gets dark!”  
Marco’s eyebrows shot up and he started walking back against his will. It was as if hands had grabbed his ankles and forced them to move, he felt adrenaline pump throughout his body in waves as his mind panicked under the lost control. Feeling the grip on him loosen briefly, Marco tore free and ran back towards town, only a primal instinct to flee in his head.  
He saw himself run against the darkness, shadow quickly spreading across the town and he didn’t dare look back to the setting sun. Passing the buffet he finally regained the sanity to stop, “Guys?” He asked nervously and surveyed the area, there was not a trace of anyone.  
“Guys!” He shouted and it echoed through the vacant stalls hauntingly. There was a distant scream forward and Marco followed after the sound, “I’m coming!” He called and sprinted towards the sound even though his limbs were basically wobbly gelatin. 

Frantically his eyes darted around, processing only blurs of shapes and colors enough to know it wasn’t his friends. Marco gasped as something cold and wet met his feet and lapped up to his ankles, he looked down, “water?”  
His chest heaved and he looked toward the horizon, no bridge or path of lights.  
No tunnels, flowers, everything he knew had been swallowed in the ocean’s throat.  
He gave a pitiful whimper and backed away, his lungs demanding air as the adrenaline from before faded. Just paralyzing fear accompanied him. Marco backed out of the water and turned, the market place was illuminated in bright lanterns. His breath caught briefly and he watched creatures, ambiguous to human form with glowing white eyes and shadows for bodies. They appeared to be layers upon layers of translucent black cloth milling about the marketplace, completely muted. The only sound was the pounding of Marco’s heart and his shallow breaths.  
He looked between his two options grimly before running around the closests house, he let himself collapse there. Pulling his knees up to his chest he closed his eyes, “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, you’ll wake up.” He repeated to himself frantically.  
“If this is what your dreams are like, I’d hate to see your nightmares.”  
Marco’s face cautiously abandoned the security of his legs as he lifted his gaze to meet the voice. A pair of metallic, golden eyes softened to a gentle amber for him.

**Author's Note:**

> It would be wonderful to here some constructive feedback or just your current thoughts and feelings. I will be releasing a few more chapters and will continue if a few individuals are interested in reading more.


End file.
